


truth be told, I never was yours

by pretense, tick_tocked



Series: In Which Koujaku & Noiz are Soulmates [3]
Category: DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 18:55:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3866005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pretense/pseuds/pretense, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tick_tocked/pseuds/tick_tocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the fear of falling apart</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Theme music? [This is Gospel](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tGE381tbQa8).  
> AKA why kaz should be the one thinking up fic titles instead of ai.

The weather report said to expect heavy rains but this is ridiculous. Raindrops splat against his windows like bullets, the cold air seeping through the vents and pulling the room temperature down to freezing levels. Even so, Noiz is walking around the (dis?)comfort of his own home wearing only a faded shirt and bunny print boxers. Storm-dark clouds serve to emphasize the lateness of the hour and Noiz finally decides to call it a night. He goes about switching off the lights, securing the gas stove, screwing the faucets shut. The last thing he expects is the sound of the doorbell cutting through the cacophony.

* * *

He shifts from one foot to the other, awkwardly standing in the middle of the lone spot of light in the entire street. All the other houses have gone pitch-black but this one has kept its porch lights open. He likes to think it's a sign - a good sign - that he's doing the right thing.

Pressing the doorbell a second time, he hopes that the homeowner is still awake. His plane touched down at some time past ten and the cab ride was fairly quick in spite of the discouraging weather. Squeezing the water from his hair, he tries to make himself look presentable. He pulls out the package he's been carrying under his arm and holds it with both hands, ready to deliver.

* * *

Only a fool would expect guests in the middle of the night yet Noiz dutifully opens his door to be greeted by a bright smile and twinkling red eyes.

"Hey. You look great. Here's your painting. Want to go on a date?"

He slams the door so hard he thinks he heard the frame crack. Noiz stares at his front door like it has just revealed itself to be a portal to another universe. It's the only logical explanation because he DID NOT just see Koujaku outside his house at eleven in the evening in the middle of a rainstorm.

Speaking of which, thunder booms from the heavens. A definite yelp from outside his door accompanies it and - O _h, for fuck's sake_. Noiz opens his door again.

"Hi," Koujaku says, breathless.

The stern line of Noiz' lips twitch. "Get in here you bastard."

"Thanks."

For someone who is drenched to the bone, Koujaku looks happy. Well, happier than when Noiz last saw him. His voice is pitched with excitement as he starts talking and talking and talking. Every step makes a puddle on the floor but he doesn't notice it, engrossed in some long-winded explanation that doesn't even register with Noiz. 

The blond drags Koujaku to the living room and sits him down. "Just shut up for a second," Noiz tries to sound authoritative but there's a giddiness in his tone that he can't quite explain. "I'll get you a towel."

So Koujaku sits there, wet and shivering slightly but with a stupid smile on his face. His hair looks like a big dead rat, sticking out in weird angles, but the painting is safe and dry. He fiddles with the string for a while, staying quiet until Noiz returns with the towel. 

Noiz heads towards the guest bathroom near the kitchen. The short trip is stalled when he catches his reflection in the mirror. Less than five minutes ago he was ready to trudge to bed and bury into hundred-thread-count blankets and now... Nobody - least of all him - should look this glad to have the privacy of their home invaded at ungodly hours of the night.

Schooling his features, Noiz returns to the living room. Holding the towel just out of Koujaku's reach, he posits, "You better have a damn good explanation or I'm kicking you out."

They both know it's an empty threat even if the deep furrow between the blond's brows is pretty convincing.

"I wanted to see you," Koujaku replies, barely batting an eyelash. He sounds like a high-school girl confessing to her crush but damn if he cared about appearances right now.

All he knows is that he's had enough of this hide-and-seek, this beating around the goddamn bush. To hell with lying day by day, pretending everything is alright. And in the worst case scenario that Noiz didn't want any more part in this, he isn't leaving without at least a fricking one night stand. He didn't pack up all his valuables, take the last plane to Germany, and practically run his way through a freak thunderstorm just for one good night kiss.

A blood vessel ticks on Noiz' temple and he shoves the towel to Koujaku's chest. "Last you told me you were in fucking Italy. If you were planning on a visit you could have at least called."

Koujaku gives a small laugh as he dries off, words spilling past his lips before he can think them all through.

"I  _was_  in Italy, just a couple of hours ago. Or was it days? Weeks? I'm not so sure anymore but I finished it and I just had to give it to you. Personally."

The dark-haired man finally notices how much his own clothes are soaked. There's no rescuing the white shirt beneath his red rayon jacket, nor his distressed jeans splashed with flood water. And his boots...

Noiz maintains a disproving frown as he gives Koujaku time to dry off. It's been more than a year since they last saw each other, video calls not counting. He doesn't know what to make of this impromptu meet-up. He has so many questions - How did you find my house? Where's your luggage? Are you staying somewhere? Why don't you have a freaking umbrella, it's been raining since sundown?! - but what comes out is a snarky,

"You missed me too much, huh?"

"Missed you enough to hop on a plane, sit wide awake for thirteen hours, and swim my way down the streets. Yeah. I guess that counts as 'too much'."

Noiz sits back, a little stunned. "You've gone mad," he surmises, talking slowly in an attempt to maybe get Koujaku to do the same. The man looks like he's been running on too many espresso shots. That could also explain how he's blurting out those things with a straight face.

"All that and the first thing you do when I open the door is ask for a date." Noiz shakes his head, disbelief finally giving way to humor. "Forgive me if I don't take that seriously right now." Watching Koujaku's futile attempt at mopping himself up, he adds, "You should change out of those clothes. Did you actually bring anything at all with you other than... well. Another painting? Seriously?"

Looking at the meticulously wrapped canvas propped against his coffee table, Noiz chuckles at the contrast between artist and artwork.

The dark-haired man's smile turns a tad sheepish as Noiz mentions the sudden date request but he did mean every word of it. Was being too blunt, too straight-forward not the way to go after all? Should he have called at the very least? Perhaps given Noiz fair warning that he was about to do something rather stupid and irrational? But saying that won't make it 'stupid and irrational', now will it?

"Ah, yeah. I left my things at the airport baggage counter. I said I'll claim them later.. at least that's what I remember. Anyway, I have my wallet here so I should be alright..."

Never mind the fact that his wallet and its precious bills are already soaked like the rest of him.

"It's important. I  _had_  to give it to you. Any other time and I... I might just chicken out again."

A smile is threatening to break out and Noiz doesn't think he can hold it in for long. Their entire situation is ridiculous but at the same time his curiosity is overcoming all his predispositions.

He scoots closer, giving Koujaku a grin. "Alright then. Show it to me."

At the blond's prompting, Koujaku takes the carefully-wrapped package. Each layer is slowly peeled off to reveal a modestly-sized canvas. It's certainly nothing like the first work he showcased in front of hundreds, that much is certain.

The painting in itself is ... odd. At first glance, it looks like nothing but a combination of greens and yellows but stare long enough and it will - quite literally- look back at you. 

An eye.

A single pale-lashed eye painted down to the meticulous detail of every sparkle of light reflecting on the translucent surface. Everything is done in such precision that one can expect the painting to blink if left unattended for too long.

"... It's just one part, though. I'll need your help to finish the rest."

"I'm a broker not a painter," Noiz mutters, extending his hand in a gesture for the painting to be handed over. He keeps his fingers on the frame, careful not to disturb the main canvas as he turns it one way then another as if to find a hidden meaning.

The strokes are less prominent without sacrificing the details. It's smoother, a little more refined, and even more striking than what he's seen of Koujaku's previous works.

The eye - his own eye? - looks a little out of place, though. Out of context. Koujaku did say that it's still a work in progress.

"What kind of help do you need?"

"I, ah... You see, the first painting was more impressionistic. I had to do it with just the memory of your face..."

The slight, embarrassed blush on Koujaku's face darkens at the rather cheesy line. It is the truth, though. The first gallery painting was borne of many conflicting feelings. He'd been very close to shutting himself off from the rest of the world but help came from the most unexpected person.

Noiz might not have thought much about their weekly video chats back then and Koujaku personally did not divulge anything deeply personal of himself before but just seeing, hearing,  _talking_ to someone else, someone who understood a part of what he was going through... It was a single strand of hope.

"Now I want to make it better. More realistic. And for that, I need to see you. Everyday. That is, if you'll let me."

"Every day," Noiz repeats, hands stilling as he meets a ruby gaze, gauging exactly how serious Koujaku is being about that proposition.

The last time they saw each other ended up as less of a night out and more of a freak storm that swept away and upturned everything he'd thought was established between the two of them. Events of that night have been carefully filed in Noiz' brain. He sometimes browses through those memories -- when he finds his mind wandering in the middle of a busy day, when long periods of time passes without word from Koujaku -- and he tries to sort them out. Their relationship has evolved, gone forward (or so be believes)  though the end of it is yet to be uncovered, hidden just beyond the thick fog of their uncertainties.

Noiz can only admit it to himself (and maybe to his brother, bless his sympathetic soul) but to not have his life figured out at this point is a little frustrating. And he knows that huge chunk of it's resolution lies with this impossible man that fate has assigned as his soulmate. Still --

"You artists are weird." Noiz hands the canvas back. It's a simple yes or no question but, knowing the volatile nature of their personalities when combined, he can't help thinking that there's so much more at stake. "When you say you need to  _see_ me... you're not going to stalk me, right?"

This proposition certainly took its sweet time tossing and turning in Koujaku's head. Days, months, a year... Although considering it took the dark-haired man at least ten years to finally accept the fact that he loved Aoba, this revelation about Noiz came fairly quickly.

He is, however, hoping that this will be the final painstaking decision he has to make about love. His heart couldn't take any more of the confusion and pain. Being rejected now might just tip him over the edge, right into the unknown abyss.

He is (finally) willing to gamble everything just for this one chance.

"Well, I'd like to think you'd prefer to be observed properly. Like in a studio or something.."

"You want me to model?" Noiz doesn't bother to quell the bark of laughter that breaks out. He shakes his head, mirth in his eyes at the thought of him posing in some airy room surrounded by paints, canvases, and an easel. It's a ridiculously romanticized version and the blond inevitably thinks of supple women, languidly posed with draperies exposing rather than covering what they ought to.

And isn't that an unconventional thought to have when he's wearing nothing but his boxers in the presence of a guest.

Leaning over to Koujaku, Noiz flicks his forehead with a finger. "This old head of yours is really full of crazy ideas. Or maybe it stopped functioning altogether after you decided to hop on a plane and brave a damn thunderstorm?"

Getting to his feet, Noiz motions for Koujaku to follow.

"I'll paint you like one of my French girls~" Koujaku grins, not able to resist the quip. Not even that flick or Noiz' teasing is enough to deter him from the rather interesting mental image of the blond reclining on a chaise lounge, naked... save for a white sheet draped 'artistically' over his privates.

Koujaku would have burst out laughing if not for Noiz' command, his legs shifting as he gets up and off his seat. Since when did the blond have such a strong influence on him?

' _Always_ ,' he finds himself murmuring, his lips still sporting an amused grin as he is led to god-knows-where.

"Sure you will," Noiz says dryly, thankful that he's leading the way thereby hiding his face (and the slight blush on it) from view. He takes them up the stairs, unable to ignore the squelching noises that Koujaku makes for long, and throws open one of the doors closest to the landing.

"But right now, I want you out of those clothes."

He reveals the bathroom and steps aside to nudge the older man in.

"I don't think you'll get to paint me in the nude if you die of hypothermia first. Get in there and I'll find you something to change into."

"Hey now, aren't we moving a bit too fast?" Koujaku chuckles as he is nudged in, his wet feet slipping slightly on the tiles. He missed this - the playful, biting banter that happens so naturally between them. Every interaction is a game, a match to see who would give in first.

Each player has his strengths and weaknesses. Koujaku has his charisma, his way of manipulating words and gestures for the greatest effect. Noiz has his intelligence and wit, the ability to use the most efficient way to solve a problem or to shut anyone up with the nastiest burn this side of the international date line. Koujaku's pitfall is his temper while Noiz lacks social finesse. To say that they're like oil and water would be a huge misconception. Koujaku and Noiz are more like fire and gasoline - volatile, unpredictable... and bound to make things explode within a ten mile radius.

The dark-haired man obediently peels his wet clothes off, the nostalgic feeling not lost on him as he remembers a night sometime ago. The odd coincidence pulls a faint chuckle from his lips as he stands there in all his naked glory, waiting for the blond to throw another snide comment - or perhaps some dry clothes - at him.

For a brilliant second, Noiz thinks of digging out his old Rhyme attire to lend the other man. But then he doesn’t quite remember where he’d stuffed  them and Koujaku’s larger build would definitely stretch it out. So, okay, new plan.

He returns to the bathroom with a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, rapping his knuckles on the door briefly before heading in. “These might be a little tight,” Noiz says as he steps inside, frowning at the bundle in his hand and looking up at his guest only to stop mid-sentence. And stare.

There is a naked man in his bathroom.

Tan skin glistens, moisturized by the rain, with swirls of bold black ink stretching over the right side of Koujaku’s body. Across his back is a more vibrant display of red lotuses that Noiz doesn’t get the chance to fully appreciate with his gaze stuck to an ass that looks almost too good for a man that’s in his mid-thirties. Lime green eyes scan up when the dark-haired man turns to face him.

Noiz works his mouth but nothing comes out. What is he even supposed to say to this?

Koujaku’s smug face is asking for a fist… maybe a kiss.

“I almost forgot how much of a lecher you are,” he mutters, tossing the clothes over before going back out the door.

Koujaku catches the clothes thrown at him, another laugh erupting from his lips as Noiz slips away, his insult hardly carrying any bite. If he didn't know any better, he'd say the blond was flustered.. but why? He must have seen his share of tanned, naked men. Perhaps it was because of the tattoos? Now that Koujaku looked back on it, he was never comfortable with having them out in the open like this but in that brief moment when Noiz' lime green eyes were on him, he did not feel any remorse or shame. Maybe because the blond had seen him worse for wear? And truth be told, the markings - when viewed as mere decorations - really are something to behold.

Would he still think the same once Koujaku tells him about their story?

... Will he even get a chance to tell him?

Shaking his head in an effort to push those negative thoughts away, the dark-haired man slips the borrowed clothes on. To his relief, they fit rather well if not a bit tight in.. certain places. Well, it's better than padding around naked.

"I'm surprised this doesn't have a rabbit on it..." Koujaku comments as he steps out, ruby eyes peering at the shirt before glancing around to look for a familiar blond head.


	2. Chapter 2

Noiz pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to clear his head. He has retreated to his bedroom at the end of the hall, needing some space to tinker with his short-circuited thoughts. He knew this self-induced bout of abstinence was going to bite him in the ass one way or another.

Not that he hasn’t been taking care of certain physiological needs when they  _arose_  but his hands and a drawer of paraphernalia can only do so much.

After years and years of failing to find him a suitable spouse, his parents have finally given up. In any case, Theo has his own family to carry on their legacy now. Noiz’ interest in the matter has been on a steady decline anyway, and he tells himself that it has got nothing at all to do with the larger than life installation in his apartment and the man behind it. He still goes out with friends, acquaintances, business partners but when the conversation drifts into personal matters of the romantic kind, he starts tuning them out.

“It’s not for everybody,” Noiz would shrug and say when people notice his disinterest. And it’s true, Noiz had never allowed himself to entertain romantic attachments. Casual sex used to fill his less inhibited nights but even that has begun losing its appeal. Somewhere along the line his brain might have realized something but it won’t tell Noiz anything.

The sight of exposed skin close enough to touch - hold, grab, caress, claim - sent his nerves in a right frenzy. Noiz has no idea how he’d lasted two months without physical intimacy - slick skin, heated breaths, strong grips leaving telltale bruises - but then he meets ruby red eyes. He remembers that this is Koujaku and he’s not - he can’t - they shouldn’t.

Koujaku really has the worst timing in the world.

Seeing what he just did, Noiz feels rather exposed. Which is ridiculous.

“You’re being ridiculous.”

The words echo in the spacious room. Noiz rakes his hand through his hair, moving away from the door. He takes a deep breath, and turns the knob, finding Koujaku standing in the middle of his hallway looking lost. Noiz takes a second to reaffirm that he can face this man, then he goes for it.

“Hey,” he calls as he walks over. “Have you eaten yet?”

The dark-haired man shrugs, about to say a nonchalant answer when his stomach gives a tell-tale growl. Embarrassed, Koujaku tries to pass it all off with a sheepish grin, his hand automatically rubbing the back of his neck.

"I guess that counts as a 'no', yeah?"

Some part of him wonders at the strange domesticity between them, how the tension seems close to nonexistent. Such a thing wouldn't have been possible a year before when the smallest move, the slightest twitch of an eyebrow or quirk of a lip was enough to set the other off. Or perhaps things are still the same and this peace is nothing but a temporary state, the proverbial ice rapidly melting, thawing out feelings, regrets from long ago.

Well, whatever the hell is happening right now, Koujaku isn't going to bolt like a frightened puppy. He wants answers ... and Noiz clearly wants them too, if the way he's been acting slightly agitated (nervous?) is of any indication.

"Figures," Noiz snorts. Calling for delivery is out of the question in this weather so their only solution is to make something up from the contents of his kitchen...

A fleeting mental image of acting like a housewife quickly escalates to a whole different scenario involving tabletops and Noiz grimaces. He really needs to sleep this off.

And he could. Technically. Just tell Koujaku where to find his reheatables and leave him be. He's a grown man. He could at least work a microwave. Meanwhile, Noiz can shut himself in and have a quick pull that will hopefully satisfy his needs.

It's the easy way out. Koujaku wouldn't even have the right to question him after imposing like this and yet...

Noiz is already heading down the stairs with Koujaku in tow, muttering in half-hearted displeasure of how he "can't stand that old man stomach making any more of a ruckus with this storm already thrashing about. What the heck. Didn't they feed you anything on that plane?"

Koujaku obediently follows his host down the stairs, his eyes glancing here and there as he takes in the tasteful (if not slightly barren) interiors of Noiz' abode.

White and black with touches of green, squares and straight lines, all the latest in technology and innovation - it was almost like they were walking inside a prototype for the stylish home of the future.

As dazzling and impressive as it is, Koujaku couldn't shake off a feeling of loneliness. It lingers in the corners of the house, the silence filled in by the faint whirring of machines. Staying in such a place would have driven Koujaku mad but perhaps Noiz enjoyed the silence and solitude. He does't really know much about the blond, aside from the obvious things in his life like his fast-paced career and apparent.. well, foreign-ness.

Would it be strange to ask him about those things now? If they are going to start dating, it should make sense that- -

No wait.

Hold up.

"..You never answered me."

The hairstylist-turned-artist parks himself by the spotless granite counter just as Noiz begins checking the contents of his fridge.

"Can we go on a date or not?"

It might just be his hunger talking but Koujaku cringes slightly, already regretting his wording. He really could have phrased that one better.

The refrigerator swings shut, loud enough to serve as a warning. Turning on his heel, Noiz briskly walks back and drops the tupperware of cold pasta on the counter top. He smiles tightly.

"You forgo eating, leave your baggage at the airport, turn up at my doorstep looking like a drowned man and -- this? This is what you --"

Noiz resists the urge to dramatically throw his hands up in frustration. Something tells him its bad to amp up his blood pressure at this hour but the initial surprise of Koujaku's arrival has steadily worn down to irritation. The blond wonders why this turn of events still catches him off guard considering all of their encounters tend to strain whatever composure he possesses.

He wants Koujaku out of his sight but at the same time he just... can't. He can't deal with Koujaku's presence throwing his meticulously organized life into disarray. He can't stomach the idea of leaving him be, it simply doesn't sit right with him. Maybe its his upbringing, maybe it's his libido, maybe its some ingrained obligation being what they are to each other.

"If I say yes, would that stop you from doing whatever crazy thing it is that your defunct brain comes up with next?" he finally says, glare in place though he can't imagine it to be very persuasive.

Noiz looks far from pleased with his reply but Koujaku knows when to stop pushing his buttons…albeit he did this one by accident. The older man really should try thinking his words through before saying them aloud. Something about a horse and a mouthful of hoof or the nozzle of a fully-loaded revolver shoved down your throat. There is a lesson to be learned here but Koujaku’s mind is too distracted by the (cold) pasta within arm’s reach.

In the span of a few hours, he had gone from a quick, almost dangerous emotional high before sinking down into a more stabilized but rather simple-minded state. The only thing he wants to do right now is eat and sleep. And perhaps cuddle with the nearest warm body but the first two took priority.

“If you say ‘yes’, I might stop bothering you about it for a while. Well, until the actual date anyway…”

Koujaku straightens up, shrugging to try and appear nonchalant despite the fact that everything leading up to this point has been anything but simple.

“But hey, it’s not like I’m forcing you to do it. You can say ‘no’... but there are other ways for me to know you. It’s your call, really.”

"You  _are_ forcing me to it," Noiz snaps, swiping the tupperware from its place when he notices the hungry if brief glance Koujaku gives the pasta within. "Now sit your ass and shut up."

He preheats a pan on the stove and ties on an apron. Microwaving would be the easy answer but Noiz particularly hates it when the inner sections aren't sufficiently warmed. Upending the tupperware into the pan, Noiz grabs a spatula to stir the food around as it heats up.

For a couple of minutes, the only sound is of the sizzling stove and Noiz breathes in the quiet. He used to be content with takeout but living by himself in Germany and expecting to share a household with a certain somebody led him to take up cooking classes. Even when that plan fell through, the cooking habit kind of stayed though Noiz only ever cooked for himself and his brother's family.

Plating the reheated pasta, Noiz delivers it to his waiting guest, following up with a glass over water.

"What I don't get," he starts in the middle of pulling off his apron. "Is why you'd bother asking for a date when you've already asked to see me every day for whatever portrait it is that you're working on."

Koujaku obediently sits down, his long legs tangling with the sleek black cylinder base of the stool. Noiz isn’t a gourmet chef by any definition but the warm pasta hit just the right spot. It is tasty and filling and the plate is empty before he could even register eating half of it.

Reaching for the glass of water, he takes one long sip before setting the cup down. His eyes are clear, much clearer than they had been a few moments ago. Even as he wipes his lips clean with the back of his hand (a rather ‘uncultured’ habit he can’t really outgrow), he keeps his gaze on Noiz.

“I just want to spend time with you in any way I can.”

The moment is interrupted by a rather bright flash of lightning followed by the sharp crack of thunder. The house lights give a faint flicker before the entire place is submerged in darkness. After a minute or so, the emergency lights kick in, bathing everything in an eerie red glow.

Koujaku only gives a small chuckle at Noiz’ dumbfounded, pissed expression. “...Guess that’s our cue for sleep, yeah?”

It's a cue that didn't come soon enough, Noiz thinks as he takes the used dinnerware to the sink to deal with tomorrow.

"I am so ready to go to bed," the blond mutters. Heading up to the second floor takes more time that his patience allows. Opening a door in the middle of the hall, Noiz steps aside so that Koujaku can go in.

"Try not to soil the sheets," he says around a yawn. "My brother picked those. There's a rabbit cube on the beside table should you need anything. Just press on the side with face to get it started."

Noiz waits until Koujaku has made his way to the bed, until that red-lined silhouette looks back at him. "Hey. Get some proper sleep, alright?"

Koujaku feels slightly embarrassed about letting Noiz do all the work so he makes a mental note to wash the dishes and tidy up the kitchen a bit when he wakes up. The blond won’t mind something like that, right? Unless he has this thing about people touching his stuff without his permission. But he  _did_ let him in… although that could have just been because he felt sorry for him. Maybe.

Plus, Noiz didn’t exactly answer his proposal properly. Maybe if he made for a better house guest, the blond would eventually give in. He could just see it now…

_“Didn’t know you had it in you to clean so well.”_

_“If you want, I can clean more than your kitchen sink~”_

_“You mean- -“_

_“Yeah, I can totally mop the living room too.”_

The dark-haired man chuckles at the silly thoughts running through his mind. Sleep might not come so easily tonight but for good reason. Noiz’ little quip about ‘not soiling the sheets’ barely registered as Koujaku is distracted by that cute little yawn. Resisting the urge to say something about children and their designated bed time, he steps into the spacious guest room before giving Noiz a warm, indulgent smile.

“Thanks. You go get some rest too.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

An arctic morning dawns, the fog on the windows and  _drip drip dripping_ from the rooftops are remnants of the storm that has passed. The minute hand ticks to twelve and the sweet silence blanketing the room is broken.

_Noiz! Noiz! It's morning! Pi! Wake up! Noiz!_

Midori lights up, throwing itself off the bedside table to reach its owner.  _It's seven o'clock! Pi! Seven o'clock!_ The Allmate announces as it bounces up and down the lump on the bed. Even when the lump shifts, rolls over, and a hand reaches out to swat at it, Midori sticks to its task.

_Noiz! Noiz!_

"Pipe down," the man in question grouses as he emerges from the thick covers. "It's a weekend, I don't have work."

 _Good morning, Noiz!_  The bunny cube’s face lights up with its greeting.

“I thought I already reprogrammed your alarm functions,” Noiz mutters, opening his palm for the Allmate to hop on.

 _Overwritten!_  Midori chirps.  _It is optimal to wake up early every day of the week! Let’s get breakfast!_

Before Noiz can do anything, the cube jumps over to his shoulder then to the top of his unruly blond head. Scrubbing away the sleep from his eyes, Noiz heaves a sigh and slips out of bed. Feeling goosebumps rising, he pulls on a robe and toes in his slippers.

He stops at the bottom of the stairs, alerted to the sounds of movement coming from his kitchen. The sleepy slant of his eyes is suddenly narrowed in caution. Midori shifts on top of his head, possibly running through police hotlines in case it’s a burglar. But how the hell could a burglar have come in? Noiz himself warded the entire place, so unless the power went out…

Passing by the living room, Noiz sees a moderately-sized canvas propped up on the sofa. The pieces click together and the smell of cooking food grows stronger as he enters the kitchen.

“Koujaku.”

“Hey~”

The dark-haired man gives the frying pan in his grasp a quick nudge, the golden-brown pancake flipping over for a few precious seconds before landing back on the heated surface. Just a couple more shakes and the pastry joins its cousins on a large serving plate, each one a perfect shade of deliciousness. Of course, this is discounting the few burnt pancakes that are hidden away in the trash bin…

“I hope you don’t mind me poking around your pantry. Figured this is the least I could do after last night.”

He brings the serving plate on the spotless dining table already set up for breakfast for two. Black coffee steaming away in white mugs, silver cutlery all cleaned and lined up, and a couple of fresh calla lilies perched delicately in the lone flower vase. Everything looks set up for the perfect ‘morning after’ breakfast.

“...So, did you sleep well?” comes the terribly awkward conversation starter as Koujaku settles in his own seat, resisting the temptation to pull Noiz’ chair out for him like what a proper gentleman would do for a lady. Because Noiz is most definitely  _not_   a lady and Koujaku would   _really_  want to eat at least one pancake before he is literally kicked out of the house for being an unbearable bastard.

“I slept fine,” Noiz mutters, feeling out of place in his own kitchen. He rakes his hair out of his eyes, forgetting about the cube that's nesting on it until he accidentally nudges it off.

 _Pi!_ the alarmed Allmate squeaks. It tumbles to the kitchen tiles but manages to right itself. Noiz watches the cube bounce its way to the table only to fail in its attempts on climbing the chair. Taking pity, Noiz picks it up and sets it on the tabletop before sliding into his own seat directly across the older man.

 _We have a guest!_  Midori excitedly declares, facing the dark-haired man.   _Koujaku. Ex-Rib leader. Occupation: Portrait artist. Blood type: A_  –

“Alright, enough of that,” Noiz taps the cube on its head to shut it up. He’s accustomed to having breakfast for two – number two being his own Allmate – so it’s a little awkward having to face someone else in such an under-dressed state; he  _does_  have an appearance to uphold.

On one hand, it’s just Koujaku - the guy who braved a thunderstorm in the middle of the night to hand-deliver a painting. On the other, it’s freaking  _Koujaku_   -   _this guy_  who woke up (way earlier than him apparently) to make breakfast for the both of them despite everything mentioned before.

And to think that he’s been pondering having cold cereal a while back. The food spread in front of him is nothing extravagant but there is an elegance in their simplicity; the vase of flowers certainly helps the ambiance.

They load their plates and start eating. Wary of the anxious look directed at him, Noiz takes his first bite, chews, and swallows.

“I’m surprised it’s decent,” he says as he cuts another piece. “What else can you cook? ‘Cause if you’ll insist on that portrait modeling gig, I am willing to accept food as compensation.”

Koujaku chuckles at Noiz’ version of a compliment as he takes a (literal) stab at his own stack of pancakes. He hums slightly at the fluffy treat, noting how he should try to use less milk next time as this batch left too much of a sweet aftertaste at the back of his tongue. Or maybe he can try substituting with skim milk?

“I can make spicy noodles and dumplings too. It’s always fun to learn new recipes.”

He gives the spotless kitchen a quick glance, his lips quirking into a slight smirk.

“Are you volunteering your kitchen to be my food test lab? Because I gotta warn you, the last time I tried making a turkey dinner…”

The dark-haired man just laughs at the memory of a few months ago. Those gravy stains took  _forever_ to scrub from the carpet, not to mention the four-alarm warning that earned him a special place in the Fire Department’s ‘Wall of Shame’. The best he could scrape together after such the disastrous night was a tofu turkey dinner which tasted like the chewed up pages of an old newspaper.

The oddly companionable silence stretches on. Koujaku knows that some part of him should be bothered by how smoothly things seem to be going but a larger part of him just wanted to enjoy the moment while it lasts. It’s hard to tell when things would turn sour between them, how a single word could break this odd but pleasant bubble they find themselves in. He makes a mental vow not to (consciously) destroy this beautiful moment but at the same time, a countdown is going off in his head as he waits for the inevitable.

Spicy noodles don't actually sound so bad, though Koujaku has made evident the coverage of his culinary skills. Not that Noiz' knowledge is any more extensive but if they take turns cooking, surely it'll ensure that their food won't be very repetitive --  _and just hold on a fucking second_.

Noiz sits back, busy hands stilling in the middle of cutting himself another slice of pancake. Did he actually just  _think_   of acting all domestic with   _this guy_  ? Seeing each other every day, sharing food, spending   _time_  -- what exactly is Koujaku trying to get out of this?

The date proposition rings in his head; his mind's eye shows him a quick flash of Koujaku drenched in rain, breathless yet smiling. Looking up from his plate, he takes in the sight of the same man -- all dry now, wearing one of his t-shirts, a little tense as if he's waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop. Noiz has no idea when the first one did but something tells him he had been hit on the head too without knowing about it.

"Cook in your own kitchen," Noiz hastens to reply, before the silence stretches on too long. "Unless you're telling me you haven't even prepared for lodging when you decided to hightail it out of Italy..."

Ah, there it is.

At Noiz’ words, Koujaku’s smile turns a tad tense, eyebrows knitting slightly as the breathless moment of almost-domesticity passes. He isn’t going to lie - he kind of liked it there but staying won’t amount to anything good in the long run.

“I’ll figure everything out once I get my luggage. I’ll only be bothering you for a few more minutes, don’t worry.”

Koujaku grabs his coffee, downs the brew in a few long gulps before setting the empty mug down. Two more pancakes linger on the main serving plate but he dismisses them as he stands, carrying his used utensils to the sink where he automatically begins washing them. The silence is replaced with faint hissing and scrubbing, small noises magnified tenfold in the cold, quiet house.

Koujaku can feel Noiz’ gaze on his back but he stays quiet, focusing on the task at hand. If the blond were to ask him about last night, he would still stand by everything he said. This silence isn’t meant to be a sign of defeat, of giving up. On the contrary, it is a set stage, an open field where Noiz can throw whatever he wants at him and Koujaku would just give everything back tied up in a bright red ribbon and coupled with a rose or two.

 _You can just ask to stay over, you know,_ Noiz thinks, idly stirring his own coffee as he watches Koujaku finish at the sink. Midori is hopping on the table, doing its own thing. Breakfast has always been a quiet affair with the two of them. Koujaku's intervention (for a lack of a better term) kind of shook him but now that the older man has mentioned his departure it's... a little disappointing.

Not like Noiz can stop him from leaving. There is the matter of luggage left at the airport and who knows what else Koujaku had neglected in his haste to come here.

When Koujaku leaves to change, Noiz wonders if his clothes have even dried properly - being left in the bathroom all night like that. He stands up to follow, stopping by the living room to pick up the canvas Koujaku had fought tempestuous weather to deliver. It's even more impressive in daylight.

Upon reaching the second floor, Noiz contemplates on which door to knock on - the bathroom or the guest room - before deciding to just call out, "Need anything, old man?"

 _‘Your house key’_ Koujaku almost hollers back, only managing to keep himself in check. Judging from the way he looked at him, Noiz clearly had his doubts about the dark-haired man’s words and actions. No need to freak the boy out any further than this…at least for today.

Frowning slightly at the water-damaged jacket, Koujaku slips on the now-stained white shirt. To be fair, the red splotches added a certain artistic touch to the outfit although he would really prefer to not look like he just ran away from some botched murder scenario.

_Shit, bad thoughts._

The dark-haired man sighs, shaking his head slightly. Even after all these years he still finds it hard to understand his own mental pathways, how one thought casually merges into another while other just smash and shatter, scattering thoughts and words in their wake. He definitely isn’t the sanest, sharpest crayon in the box but things seem to have gotten even worse over the past months. Maybe he should talk to Noiz about this? Casually insert his slipping mental state over dinner with a  _‘The main course was pretty good, huh? By the way, I might have gone through severely traumatizing things in my childhood that technically make me a nut job. So, what do you want for dessert?’_

Smiling wryly at his rather dark thoughts, Koujaku steps out. He is nowhere near impeccable but at least the sight of him won’t alert foreign police.

“So, what do you think? It’s the latest in fall fashion~” 

Noiz just rolls his eyes. "I don't think you'll get past airport security in that get-up. Hold this." He deposits the painting in its maker's hands, making a quick trip to his room. There's a large coat in his arms when he comes out.

"It's a gift but it's a little too big for me," he says about the coat, watching expectantly as Koujaku puts it on. The dark gray material is thick yet light, with black silk lining on the inside.  "Never even worn it. There, see, now you look half-way decent." At the very least, the coat hides more of the unsightly stains and creases than Koujaku's red jacket.

Bleak sunlight greets them when they open the door. Though the storm has passed, the air is humid and the dark clouds overhead have yet to disperse. Noiz hesitates while Koujaku toes in his boots, making his move when the dark-haired man finally stands.

"Let me know when you're settled down." The blond picks up the coat's lapels, turning up the collar as protection against the blowing wind. Considering the state he arrived in last night, Noiz is surprised that Koujaku isn't showing signs of illness. If Noiz had an extra umbrella, he would've lent it but... well, this is the next best thing, he supposes.

Satisfied with his work, Noiz meets Koujaku's eyes and smirks. "What?"

“You’re so cute.”

And he says it without malice, not in that teasing way that people would do to hide their own insecurities. He speaks slightly in awe like someone who had just seen snow for the first time, mitten-covered palms catching a snowflake and marveling at Mother Nature’s transient, thumbprint-sized artwork.

For a moment, Koujaku is just  _staring_. Not glaring or leering – just  _staring_  at Noiz like he was some magnificent revelation clothed in bunny print sleepwear – ones that should look completely out-of-place and childish on grown men but the blond somehow makes it look decent.

Blinking to clear away the sparkles and butterflies (early morning fog and smoke?) clouding his vision, Koujaku smiles and takes a cautious step back just in case his words finally register in Noiz’ head and he tries to land a quick punch or two on his face.

“I’ll be in touch.”

He starts walking down the slightly wet pavement, pausing to look back and add, “Take good care of him.” before continuing on his way, eventually disappearing from Noiz’ sight.

 _Him?_  

Noiz wants to ask what in the world could that mean but to speak would mean breaking the comfortable silence that Koujaku leaves in his wake. He can't even muster up a protest to being called "cute."

It should bother him, the way the dark-haired man all but crashed into his home. Just like a storm that rolls in with nothing but a faint smell of rain as forewarning. Maybe its a testament to how far they've come, making it easier to deal with each other this time around. Their actions are a little guarded, testing familiar waters, but they have more or less managed to keep their balance -- easy banter with a pinch of wary teasing and maybe some half-meant jabs just to keep them on their toes. With Koujaku's form shrinking away in the distance, Noiz finally retreats into comfort of his home, though it feels a little colder than before but that might just be the breeze he let in. He makes to head back to the kitchen for his unfinished breakfast but something catches his eye.

A mirror image stares at him from the floor, bright green and fanned with golden lashes.

 _Huh_.

Is this what Koujaku meant? Take good care of -- what, an eye? Noiz snorts as he picks up the canvas, vibrant colors in mint condition given the way it's creator ascertained its safety. Padding up the stairs, Noiz heads for the end of the hallway. The unassuming door opens after verifying Noiz' person, revealing itself to be a plain and spacious room with no windows. Ambient lighting are installed on the high ceiling, illuminating the plush carpet covering the floor. At the center is a chaise lounge and a side table made of dark wood, on top of the latter is an unopened bottle of wine.  
  
Noiz sets the canvas on the lounge seat, gaze drawn to the painting installed at the far wall. Its presence alone fills the entire room, emphasized by accent spotlights from below. The tribal K signature at the bottom corner looks very familiar now, Noiz finds them akin to the dark bands of ink that decorate Koujaku's body. He has only seen them once but they left a lasting impression. The blond suddenly regrets missing his chance to show off this place; he has sent a picture back when it was first installed but being in the same space makes for a very different experience. 

The room seals itself shut behind him a little more occupied than before.  _Looks like it's about to become something like a gallery_ , he thinks as he exits. Koujaku  _did_  imply that he'd be staying in Germany for a while.

Back at his kitchen table, Midori has gone on sleep mode after being left alone. Noiz plops on his seat and resumes eating pancakes that have gone cold.


End file.
